


K'turr Stonn

by CelestiaTrollworth



Series: Aftermath [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestiaTrollworth/pseuds/CelestiaTrollworth
Summary: Just after the Loss, Nyota offers her help at the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. It turns out to be a productive and thought-provoking day.
Relationships: Amanda Grayson/Sarek, Spock/Nyota Uhura
Series: Aftermath [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353064
Kudos: 7





	K'turr Stonn

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be very soon after the Loss, while everyone is still bewildered. One-shot, should be more or less a stand-alone.  
> Note for those unfamiliar with my other stuff: Mestral has been in cold storage for most of the time since the Carbon Creek episode of Enterprise, hanging around in the present for the past thirty years or so. He is, in my warped head canon, Sarek's grandfather and a thoroughly noncompliant Vulcan who is more Yinzer than anything. (Pittsburgh joke, reflecting the tendency to render "you ones" not as "y'all" but "yinz.")

When Uhura had been at the Vulcan Embassy before the Loss, the huge building's first floor had been full of travelers, staff and various official visitors who could be held off from the home world if they were entertained in Sausalito. Upstairs was typically Vulcan, with the throng of occupants all but invisible in their offices and quarters. At first glance, little had changed; it was normal to see only a gate guard and travel through quiet corridors.

What was not normal was the great psychic stillness. She was used to the sense of polite shields behind closed doors. This was different, an emptiness beyond words. No one was in the corridors except for couple of young aides who failed in their attempt not to look devastated. She went to the lift, for once unsure of herself.

"Lieutenant?" The soft, unfamiliar voice startled her. Given where she was, she kept away her reaction and denied her face any expression as she turned and recognized the voice's owner.

"Ambassador." She made a polite ow to the straight-backed woman in buff-colored robes. She had lighter hair than most of the Vulcans Nyota had met, deep chestnut brown nicely arranged, and eyes te color of her son Sarek's. "I thought to come and offer any assistance I might."

"Our gratitude, granddaughter. Perhaps I should not call you so, since my grandson has not informed me...and I have no right to expect he would." That beaut5iful chiseled face was not used to soft expressions, yet seemed willing to make the attempt. "Everyone else met you enroute. I did not have the chance. Other grandson and his wife are also very grateful that your ship was able to take us in. Conditions on what was left of our shuttle were less than optimal."

"That was a really unfortunate way to have to escape. Vulcans and cold do not mix well." 

"No, and it could not be helped. T'Kriss had to keep the remnants of that craft flying, and Hoshek is a transporter technician, not an engineer. It was their misfortune to have a lawyer and silversmith along instead of any of the family mechanics." She put a hand to a closed door. "If you are willing to help, this is exactly the kid of task I find daunting." 

"I stand ready to serve." 

"You may regret that." T'Rana opened the door. The room was the size of Uhura's quarters. All but a few square feet were packed wit soft toys of varying sizes, most of them either stuffed sehlats or Terran teddy bears. "There are far more toys than children. Sarek had to ask people to stop bringing clothing because the supply was more than ample." She opened another door to what looked like a living room completely packed with fabric. "It may be that as Vulcans from outlying plants come in, they may have need, but at the moment..."

"I can help. Is there a list of children and their ages?"

"I have that." Srek came around the corner, handwritten list in hand. "I took the liberty of rendering it in Standard. Paper was easier when there are so few." 

"Sometimes it's still easier to handle." She looked at the pitifully short list. Two hundred and fifty-three, out of ten thousand survivors. Surely there had o be more, but even if there were, they would arrive a few at a time instead of in a single mind-jarring day. "Explain the task." 

"I have no idea what clothing is thought appropriate for children on Terra," Rana said. "San Francisco has always seemed chill and damp when I had to be here, so I suppose...coats?"

"For Vulcans, likely. The very heavy sweaters and winter gear can go to the reception center at Carbon Creek, where the climate is maintained colder. If you can find me a few helpers--" 

"You have them," Sarek said. "My workload will doubtless increase at some point, but now, today..." 

"Just so. Let's sort a bit." 

Giving orders to the ambassador to the Federation and the ambassador to Earth should not have been comfortable, but the traumatized Vulcans rendered it so. Within a few minutes, Spock appeared. "Nyota..." and caught himself before he made life far too interesting. "Father. Grandmother." 

"You may as well help," Rana said around an armload of tote bags. "You have my word that I am permanently done berating you for your ancestry." 

"A pleasant surprise," Spock muttered, and got to ork as efficiently as always. He began to make sense of sizes and relative warmth, passing questionable items to Nyota. "I must say some of this is of dubious quality and some is...not suitable." He held up a baby shirt with a risque saying on it. "Perhaps from a generous Orion." 

"It is well that we are sorting," Rana agreed. "My husband, you may also be of use." 

The taller, thinner version of Spock scooped up a load of the sorted clothing and toys. "Nyota, you are most useful. We had very little idea of where to start. I would not have anticipated such clothing to be donated." He held up flimsy purple nightwear that suggested bondage. Rana cast a glance at it with perhaps more than proper interest. "This does not seem geared to either warmth or comfort." 

Nyota understood. " It happens after every disaster where there is an immediate need for clothing. People dump everything unwanted, not necessarily what is useful. Ah. This area is clearing out nicely already." 

"First, pick up a rock," Spock said under his breath. Nyota repressed a grin, knowing where he had been. " Grandmother, your father will arrive shortly. He told me to add 'whether or not she wants me there.'"

"At one time, perhaps not. Then is not now and these times are not those." They continued for two hours, Nyota chocking the list as she packed, Skon loading finished bags into the lift. As the heaps dwindled, features around the room appeared. She noticed pictures on a scrolling display Rana noticed her interest. "Amanda did not remember as we do, so she kept reminders." 

She recognized Spock, Sarek, Amanda, the grandparents who were present, Solkar and his recently deceased wife--the picture spoke volumes about how much denial Vulcan society exercised when it came to marital love; he had clearly adored her. There was a picture of several aged priestesses and a young woman. "I don't reconize her." 

Rana brushed her fingertips across the frame. "At one time, I should have made a rude comment about her inclusion. That was, at the time, my daughter until the Council declared her k'turr stonn." Nyota managed not to gulp. "There were five original reasons for cutting someone off in such an absolute and, dare I say, spiteful way: murder, treason, destruction of a katric ark, unauthorized warfare and willful denial of all aspects of the Code. She did none of those, yet as the list of offenses became ever more vague, the priestesses insisted on her exile. Thousands more are in similar straits. They may return to Vulcan only with permission from the head of their house. Most now are the head and sole survivors. As it stands, none of us can return and we are all k'turr stonn." Rana looked down at the gray sweatshirt in her hands. "I have issued her permission, should she accept. It is probable you may meet her one day." 

"I want to see that," said Sarek's brother, baiing out of the lift with too much enthusiasm. SIlek had managed to trip over everything, drop his armfuls several times ad run into the doorframe twice. "The children's parcels are duly delivered and I have a working list of sized and needs for adults leaving the hospital. Father, can we be seen working together or are you still supposed to disapprove?"

"No one will care. He was supposed to be an astrophysicist because I was," Skon added. "I think his choice of archaeology fortunate." 

"I use what he taught me about navigation to look for the most probable evidence of the Preservers." Silek untangled a pink lace bra from his foot and tossed it to his father, who checked the size tag and pocketed it. "Since the Loss, I've been looking for Vulcans in exile."

"After V'las' War, there were many," Rana agreed. She spotted something on the edge of a stack and stuffed it into her own pocket. Nyota thought she aw a flash of pink panties that matched the bra. "The Carbon Creek colony alone is numerous enough to have its own excellent hospital. For far too long, I agreed with the priestesses' failed logic and denied its very existence." 

Judging by the stunned auras around her, Nyota went for a diversion. "Ambassador, I must comment on your excellent Standard. You do have an interesting accent." 

"My father's, most likely. He spent over sixty years on Earth, loosely based in Carbon Creek, in three different centuries. While his speech is properly precise around unrelated Surakan Vulcans, it becomes...colorful...at his Terran home among k'turr and other species. Until the Loss, I could not comprehend the need for such extensive cursing as he thought normal." 

"In the early twenty-first century work of Imahara among human test subjects--" Sarek plucked a warm jacket from the heap, "foul language during duress demonstrated a thirty percent reduction in perceived pain. Granfather performed further analyses in cooperation with data analysts from seven other species with similar results. As such, it is a useful tool for those who do not practice emotional control." 

"It might be relevant to us," Skon agreed. "Rana, when your father arrives momentarily, he might have suggestions." 

Of course he had sensed the imminent arrival of the lift, which disgorged...Nyota had expected a serene, if shocky, Vulcan. Instead, she could only think of a khaki Terran with pointed ears who performed a quick family greeting. She held up the ta'al. "Ambassador Mestral." 

"Nick," he corrected her, clearly grasping her situation. "Or Grandpa, fa'sa, whatever." He turned to Rana. "Cursing and swearing are Terran standbys and render opinions quite succinctly. You're a lawyer. Summarize Nero's actions." 

After only an instant Rana began, considering her wording and condensing to perhaps three paragraphs. " So?"

"Accurate, but what you mean is, sumbitch was frickin' nuts. Can't fix that, at least not yet, no sense thinking about it until we can. You all thought about giving up. o did I. Not an option, so can that too. Here are the jackets too light for Pennsylvania winter. Who gets these?"

Spock began to sort them. Nyota thought she heard him curse. Sarek might have done the same. Rana was as quiet, but more forceful and creative. She nodded. "At least a seventeen point five percent stress reduction. Interesting." 

"Told you so," Nick nodded. "Walk on. Cuss on The cause is sufficient. We may all be k'turr stonn, but we'll fix this."


End file.
